


You Don't Have to Choose

by IggyMcClaire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-03-20 17:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IggyMcClaire/pseuds/IggyMcClaire
Summary: Begins with a conversation between Jon and Sansa after the revelation of his parentage.Arya and Gendry have been reunited, but Sansa is wary of him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction story, or really my first ever story of any kind. I would love to hear any thoughts on my writing, or the story in general!

JON

 

“You’re name, your real name, is Aegon Targaryen?”

 

Sansa’s voice shook out. Her words were soft, but Jon cringed away from them.

 

“No,” he replied.

 

“It is…that’s your name. Thats the name Aunt Lyanna gave you. Jon, don’t you understand what this means?”

 

“Yes, but it’s not my name,” Despite the cold of the room, Jon could feel the heat rising in his face. Winter had been upon them for mere months, yet he could already feel that it was colder than any other he had lived through. He could feel in his fingers, seeping through his worn gloves and down to the bone.

 

Sansa was staring ahead, her eyes glazed over. “Aegon Targaryen…”

 

“You’re not listening to me, Sansa. It’s not my name and it’s not who I am.”

 

Sansa blinked at him. Her hands were gripping the small writing table in front of her, her face was whitening by the minute. “But you just said that Bran saw…Jon, you’re the heir. It’s yours by right.”

 

“Listen to me!” Jon’s words rang out across the room, clanging violently off the cold stone walls.

 

Sansa’s mouth opened to speak, then closed again. Her breath hitched in her throat. He sighed roughly and fell into the the wooden chair he’d recently vacated. His own words were still ringing in his ears. He couldn’t deny the anger he felt. He was angry at his father for not telling him the truth. He understood why Ned Stark had kept the truth from his family…from his friend Robert, from Lady Catelyn, from everyone. Yet somewhere in the anger, there was a clarity.

 

For two days Jon had stewed in it. Bran hadn’t said much when he first arrived back in Winterfell, but Jon wasn’t even sure what to expect of the little brother he hadn’t seen in years. The last memory he had of him was after his fall, so small and fragile, lying motionless in the bed. He had assumed that Bran was simply angry and confused, just as Sansa and Arya had been over his decision to relinquish the North to Daenerys. But when he spoke, Jon hadn’t recognised Bran’s voice, and the coldness behind his eyes had scared him. When Bran had revealed his knowledge of Jon’s parentage, it were as though he were reading it from a book. He was stating fact and Jon knew in that moment that it was true and it didn’t take him long to fit the pieces together.

 

It wasn’t until two days later that he decided to tell Sansa. They had been through so much together, and he knew she was feeling uneasy about his return. He could see how she was struggling to control the things that were happening around her, and how the struggle was turning to fear.

 

Jon stood up out of the chair and cross the room in two strides. “I need you with me, Sansa. I need you to know that I’m still the same person.”

 

“Nothing is the same. How can anything ever be the same?” Sansa was trembling now. “You’re a Stark, and a Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen”

 

“I understand that she was my mother, I do. I understand that was the name she wanted for me, but it’s not true. I spent my entire life believing that I was a bastard, knowing that I wasn’t Stark…and never could be. You may know me as your brother, Sansa, but I’m not a Stark. And I’m certainly not a Targaryen.”

 

He looked at Sansa, he wanted desperately to make her understand. He could see the pity in her eyes, the sadness that she felt for him, as well as the fear and confusion.

 

“Just as you are not a Bolton, nor a Lannister.” Sansa looked at him them, eyes widening.

 

“When I left home for the wall, my name was Jon Snow.” His voice was steady. He needed her to know that he knew everything now, all of who he was. “When I came back home, when you and I took back what belonged to our family…my name was Jon Snow.”

 

Tears were streaming silently down Sansa face.

 

“Stark. Targaryen. It’s not that simple. It doesn’t matter who anyone wanted me to be and it doesn’t matter who I thought I wanted to be, this is what happened. This is our story.”


	2. Chapter 2

SANSA

 

It had been a long time since Sansa had actually cared about getting her boots wet or ruining the hem on her dresses, but there were days when Winterfell’s main courtyard was intolerably muddy.

 

She had been walking along the wooden gallery to avoid it, when she spotted Arya sparring with the boy Gendry. She watched as Arya side-stepped one of his lunges, struck the side of his arm, then as he raised his sword above his head to strike again she jabbed him in the guts. Her movements were fluid and elegant, yet she struck with such sharp certainty.

 

Gendry, on the other hand, showed very little skill with a sword. Though he was quick on his feet, his movements were awkward and laboured. Just as Sansa saw him finally dodge one of Arya’s swings he slipped sideways into the mud, covering most of his leather pants and right arm.

 

“Right!” he shouted. “I yield.”

 

“But I need to practice. Brienne’s not here and no one else wants to fight a girl.” Arya replied.

 

She stood with her feet apart, one hand resting behind her back and the sword at her side. Sansa noted how steady and controlled she looked next to Gendry, who continued to fumble in the slick mud.

 

He pulled himself up, picked up his sword and began wiping it off on his cleaner sleeve.

 

“It’s not because you’re a girl, Arry.” He pointed the sword at the one in her hand. “It’s because you’re completely ruthless with that thing.”

 

“How did you manage to get worse at swinging a sword?” She mocked.

 

“I’ll have you know that I’m more than capable of using a sword. I just…prefer the hammer.”

 

“Capable…right…” She rolled her eyes as she turned away from him and crossed the courtyard. She took the stairs two at a time and then came to stand next to Sansa, leaning on the wooden railing.

 

“Why are you watching us?” She questioned.

 

“You shouldn’t be spending so much time with him, Arya. People will talk.”

 

“You still care about appearances? What…you don’t want me to be friends with him because he’s a bastard?”

 

“It’s not about that, Arya. I couldn’t care less about him being a bastard. That is to say, it’s not exactly proper, but then you’ve never behaved properly have you?.” She said, the hint of a smile played on the edges of her lips.

 

Arya huffed at the insult. “Couldn’t think of anything worse. So what is it then?” She kept her tone light and cheerful, but Sansa could feel the weight of her questions.

 

She turned away from Arya then, the smile fading from her face as the darkness of her thoughts crept slowly back into her mind.

 

“Why do you trust him so much?”

 

“He was with me when Yoren helped me escape from King’s Landing to take me to the wall. Despite my shortened hair and ragged clothes, he figured out quickly that I was a girl but he kept my secret.”

 

Sansa was still watching Gendry as Arya talked. She tried to imagine them together, walking the King’s Road somewhere in the Riverlands, Arya with shorter hair, passing herself off as a grubby-faced boy.

 

“He learnt my real name but still, he kept my secret.” Arya continue. “We travelled together for a long time, and I guess that after a time with someone, you just…” she shrugged “…know who they are.”

 

Sansa nodded.

 

“He’s like family to me, Sansa. After everything you’ve been through you know that we need family more than ever.”

 

“It’s because of everything I’ve been through that I don’t want you letting your guard down around him. You shouldn’t be so trusting. Thing aren’t always as they seem when it comes to men.”

 

She could feel Arya’s eyes on her, studying her for the truth.

 

“Firstly - if any man ever tried something with me, I’d stab him in the eye.” Arya chimed lightly.

 

Sansa rolled her eyes at that. _Gods did she always have to be so dramatic._

 

“Second - I know him, Sansa. He’s a good person. I know it’s not easy for you to trust people but if you trust in me at all, I want you to hear me when I say that he would never harm me. Or you…if that’s at all your concern.”

 

“Well if that is how you feel…” Her voice faded. She knew Arya was right, of course. Family was the most important thing is this world now. “I am truely pleased to know that you’ve found someone good for you, Arya. Just try to remember that you should still conduct yourself respectfully in public. So no…you know….kissing or anything.”

 

Arya had been smiling at her until her face suddenly dropped into a look of confusion. Then, to Sansa’s surprise, she burst out laughing.

 

“Wait…what…” Arya managed only a few words before doubling over in fits of laughter.

 

Sansa watched her with raised eyebrows until she was able to regain control of herself with one last unattractive snort.

 

“Seven Hells, Sansa. I’m not with Gendry. I said he was like family, as in I think of him as I would a brother.” She gave a dramatic shudder, another snort and then chuckled her way down the stairs to collect her forgotten sparring sword.

 

Sansa watched as Arya crossed the courtyard, a hint of a smile still on her lips, and placed the sword on the holding rack.

 

————————————————————

GENDRY

 

Gendry had found it just as amusing as Arya when she told him what conclusion her sister Sansa had arrived at concerning their relationship. Perhaps he had laughed a little too hard, he realised, when Arya started scowling at him.

 

“Oh come on. You were laughing first!” He said, raising his hands out in front of himself as though defending himself from the possibility of another attack.

 

“It’s not that ridiculous, you know. According to Hot Pie I’m “pretty”,” she replied with a smirk.

 

That had set him off laughing again until Arya smacked him across the head, with a glint in her eye that told him she didn’t really mind. He was still grinning when his eyes caught sight of Sansa’s flaming red, who had been watching their exchange from across the courtyard.

 

_Gods, she is pretty._

 

He scolded himself for the thought, but put on his friendliest smile anyway. She stared back at him with a slight furrow in her brow, took a quick step back from the railing and strode off in the opposite direction, her fiery hair tailing after her.

 

Watching her leave, he wondered silently if she ever smiled. Her eyes were always so distant and thoughtful, so full of sadness.

 

“What are you doing smiling at Sansa?” Arya’s voice cut across his thoughts.

 

“What d’you mean? Am I not allowed to smile at people?”

 

Arya raised her eyebrows at his response and trudged off through the thick mud. Gendry was sure he saw her smirking before she disappeared around a corner.

 

With the distraction of Arya’s sparring request out of the way, he moved back toward the forge, the weight of Jon’s request for more breastplates pulling him forward.

 

He was grateful for the position he’d been given in the forges and the proximity his skills had kept him to the warmth of a fire during the day.

 

It had started snowing again, falling softly through the air, and the evening’s shadows were creeping their way into the corners of the yard. The days were growing shorter and the cold was starting to feel like a sickness he couldn’t shake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wants to be able to protect herself for once...

GENDRY

The metal rang out loud and clear as Gendry brought his hammer down to hit it. He’d been hard at work in the heat of the forge since day break, each strike calling on his next as the notes became a melody he moved to.

 

His focus had been so unwavering it was only when he stopped to stoke the fire that he realised the door had been opened. A cool light was streaming across the stone floor, and a red-headed figure stood in the doorway.

 

After taking a moment to re-adjust his eyes, Gendry realised that it was the elder Stark sister, Lady Sansa.

 

“Apologies, m’lady. I didn’t see you there.’ He put down the hammer and wiped the his face with his sleeve. He was suddenly aware that if his forearms were any indication, his face must have been filthy. He began wiping his hands on his pants and mumbled another apology, but she was already moving about the room.

 

“Not at all. I hope you will forgive the intrusion.” Her voice was more gentle than he had expected.

 

“No intrusion, Lady Sansa, you’ve every right.”

 

“Jon was worried he’d over-burdened you with jobs, and I was on my way past so I thought I would come and see how you were doing.”

 

Gendry watched as Sansa’s fingers brushed delicately over the stag’s horns on his warhammer, where it hung idly by the door.

 

“I see you’ve embraced your Baratheon heritage.”

 

Her face was unreadable and her voice steady. Gendry met her eyes for a short moment before she looked away and busied herself with inspecting the breastplates he had been working on that morning.

 

_Blue._ He thought. _A clear blue, but not like the sky. The sky is too empty, and too far away_. He couldn’t place the colour but it felt so familiar to him. A memory lingered on the edge of his mind, something wondrous and warm.

 

“I ain’t pretending to be something I’m not,” he said. “I’m a bastard. It just…makes me feel closer to my father. Maybe a little closer to knowing something about myself.”

 

Sansa nodded. “I understand,” she said quietly as she place the knife she’d been holding back on the table in front of her. “This is fine work. The North is grateful for you service.”

 

“With respect, Lady Stark, I ain’t doing it for the North. This fight’s not about noble houses or which Kingdom belongs to who.”

 

A flicker of anger passed across Sansa’s face before she quickly smoothed her features once again.

 

_Blue and bright and burning. Nothing like Arya’s eyes._

 

“And if we succeed in destroying the dead? What then? Will you refuse Jon as your King?”

 

“No, m’lady. He is my king. But it ain’t because he’s a Northerner, or because he’s Ned Stark’s son. It’s because he’s a leader. I will fight for him because I know he will fight for me.”

 

He knew it hadn’t been what Sansa would have wanted to hear. She was a proud woman, and fiercely loyal to the North. Those were the few truths he had come to understand about her in his short time at her home in Winterfell.

 

“I don’t claim to know about Kings but seems to me Jon is one of the few people who might actually deserve the title. He is my King, but it’s because I choose him to be my king. But he knows that I ain’t bending no knee.”

 

Gendry shuffled on the spot but resisted the urge to look at his feet as she continued moving about the forge, touching a piece of armour or unfinished weapon here and there.

 

“All I want’s the freedom to make my own choices.”

 

It had become clear that she held the respect of both the Northern lords and the commoners, and not purely because of her name. She had earned it, it had seemed, or at least that was what he could gather from the tales he’d been told.

 

“Was there something else I could help you with, m’lady?” There was no falseness to his voice when he used the word lady, not as there would have been if he were talking to Arya. Sansa was indeed a lady.

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. That is, if you’ve the time to spare?” She came of a halt in front of him.

 

She smelt like flowers, sweet and fresh, and lemons too, he thought. It was intoxicating. The streets of King’s Landing had been so full of shit and piss, he imagined it would be the only thing he’d ever breathe for the rest of his life. Despite the forge’s dust and smoke and molten metal, Sansa’s scent cut sharply through. He decided there and then that he’d give up the warmth of the South any day if this is what the North smelt like.

 

Gendry gathered himself. “Of course, m’lady.”

 

“I’d like you to make me a breastplate. Or something of the kind. Perhaps you could alter one of the ones you’ve already started?”

 

“A breastplate?”

 

Perhaps she is more like her sister than I had realised.

 

“Yes,” she said plainly.

 

Gendry raised his eyebrows in question.

 

“I’m no warrior,” she explained. “But with what’s coming I think it would be wise for me to protect myself. I had thought that I could wear it over my dress. Or perhaps incorporate it into the design of a new one.”

 

“M’lady, I’m not sure that’s entirely necessary. Jon’s not going to let them dead men get anywhere near you. Neither will Arya. Or Brienne. I do believe you’re well protected…”

 

“I want to be prepared for the possibility.”

 

While he felt quite certain that he was capable of fulfilling her request, he pondered the uncomfortable situation it might put him in. She would need to be measured and fitted for the plate if she wanted it be comfortable enough to wear for extended periods of time. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to go about this, she was the Lady of Winterfell after all and it would not have seemed proper for her to be in the close company of a Flea Bottom bastard.

 

But something told him there was no denying this woman. There was a fire that burnt inside her. He wondered if that was why the God’s had given her red hair. ‘Kissed by fire’ as Tormund would say. And those eyes…

 

“Well then if it’s a breastplate you’re wanting, I ain’t gonna be able to alter one of these,” he explained, pointing at the stack she had handled earlier. “We’ll need to start from scratch.”

 

“I don’t want to make unnecessary work for you.” She insisted. “I’m quite tall, so perhaps one of the smaller - ”

 

“It ain’t about height, ye see. It’s more about the…,” He was waving his hands awkwardly in front of his body in an attempt to make her understand. “The…shape…”

 

“Yes, of course. Well then, I suppose it will have to be from scratch.” Sansa concluded.

 

Gendry cleared his throat behind his hand roughly. “I’d have to get some measurements. Usually I would do it myself but…Perhaps your dress-maker could take them and then come and see me to discuss the design further so as to not bother yourself.”

 

“I make my own dresses.”

 

He pondered on that for a moment.

 

“Ah.”

 

“Is that a problem?”

 

“No,” He stumbled before quickly adding “m’lady.”

 

“Very well. I will bring you measurements and drawings tomorrow.”

 

Their eyes met one more time before she turned and swept across the room to open the door. A gust of bitter wind sent her red hair swirling into the air around her and with a creak of old iron hinges, she was gone.

 

_Blue flame. That’s what it is._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon isn't sure how to tell Dany about Bran and Sam's news...

JON

 

It felt ridiculous to Jon that while the army of the dead marched past the wall, life in Winterfell went on mostly as usual. The only distinguishable difference seemed to be that there were more people there than he had ever remembered.

 

Northern families were bringing wagons full of grain and dried meats in along the dirt roads into the Castle’s stores, just as he had seen done in the months before he left for Dragonstone, only this time the roads were lined with thousands of tents and guarded by tan-skinned men. Chamber meetings were significantly more crowded, with noble houses having sent their lords or ladies to meet with the Dragon Queen, many to air their grievances to Jon and Sansa about her being there in the first place.

 

The news of the fallen wall spread quickly after Bran made the announcement to Jon and Daenerys upon their arrival at Winterfell. Despite her relatively calm demeanour, Jon knew that Daenerys was distraught by the idea of her undead child, a pawn now being used for the Night King’s bidding. He had seen how quickly her sadness had turned into a deep, burning anger that fuelled her desire to end the army of the dead. It seemed to consume her day and night.

 

This distraction had given Jon enough time to keep his distance while he decided how to go about telling her of Bran’s other revelation concerning his parentage. He knew that she needed to know. She’d spoken about how the loss of her family had affected her at such a young age, and he wanted to do everything in his power to become whatever he could to fill that void she felt, especially having just lost another being she considered of her blood.

 

But there was more than just blood involved here. She’d told him when they first met just how much ruling had meant to her.

 

‘Faith in myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.’ She had said. He hadn’t fully understood at first, and had thought she was simply arrogant enough to believe that because she had a noble name, she was entitled to something she’d never earned.

 

But as he grew to know her, he began to understand that it was because of her name that she had done the things she had done. She had used her name to gain favour where she could, so that she could place herself in a position to help the people who needed it.

 

‘I am the last dragon, Jon Snow.’ _Gods, neither of us knew anything, it seems._

 

She had found the strength to keep going, despite many failings, because she believed that her people needed her. That they needed Daenerys Targeryen, heir to the Iron Throne.

 

Only according to Bran, and a document Sam had found at the Citadel, she wasn’t the true heir. He was. How could he take that away from her, from the woman he loved. His love for her grew from her strength, and she drew strength from her name.

 

After a week, he realised that he would have to come out with it. His keeping the truth from her had started to feel dishonourable, and he knew that if his allegiance with Dany was going to survive, along with their relationship - whatever that was - he would need to be honest.

 

He was standing on Winterfell’s northern battlements with snow falling quietly around him. His eyes strained to see as far as they could out to the horizon but the weather did not permit him much distance, and the cold was starting to burn his cheeks. He pulled his cloak up tighter around him, but when in made no real difference he decided that it was time to leave.

 

“Stay close to the fires, lads,” he called to the two Northern boys who were on watch duty. He suspected it was their first winter, judging by their ages. “But try to keep moving if you can, it’ll keep you warmer for longer.”

 

Despite the crippling cold, Jon was glad to be back in the North, in Winterfell. It was the place he had called home for many years and yet it wasn’t until now that he felt it to be true.

 

Everything was the same and completely different all at once, if that was even possible. He’d felt utter relief when he finally saw the faces of Bran and Arya for the first time, as though he could not believe they had survived until that very moment. They were different, but still children, and far too young to have seen such horror in the world.

 

He’d nearly cried when he embraced Arya. She hugged him around his middle, though not as tightly as he had remembered from before. There were things about her that had not changed at all, things he had not even recalled until their reunion. She shared his dark eyes and hair. She was still small, and boyish. When she smiled he saw Ned Stark himself gleaming up at him. But her smiles were much fewer, and there was no more playfulness in her actions. She was disciplined and serious, constantly watchful. Constantly suspicious.

 

Knowing that Ned Stark was not his real father changed nothing of how he felt about his family. Arya and Sansa were his sisters, and Bran, Rickon and Robb were his brothers. He would not let that change. The people of the North may have named him their king, but in his heart he was still just Jon Snow.

 

He had given up his seat as King of the North for Daenerys before, and he would give up the South as well. She was who he chose to follow, to serve and to love. And he would make her understand that.

 

Jon found Daenerys on the edge of the Western field, where it met the Wolfswood, tending to the dragons. The smaller of the two, Rhaegal, was curled up on the ground with his eyes closed, breathing in and out with a low rumble. Drogon was standing protectively over Dany while she gently stroked his scaly neck. His burning red eyes watched Jon intently as he trudged his way through the snow toward them.

 

He slowed up as he got nearer, but held Drogon’s eyes with his own. The heat of the air grew with every step he took towards them, until he was standing on the dead grass where the snow had melted around them. She was singing to them. It was quiet, and in a language he did not understand, but it filled his heart with warmth.

 

Hearing his footsteps, Dany turned around and at seeing him, she broke into a soft smile.

 

“Jon,” she said, dropping her hand from Drogon.

 

He couldn’t help returning her smile. He wanted desperately to embrace her, but he knew that they were still close enough to the camps that many eyes could be watching them.

 

“My queen,” he gleamed. He watched her as she walked away from Drogon, who proceeded to stretched his great wings out around him and took off into the darkening sky.

 

The flight of a dragon was something of such great amazement and beauty. It was graceful, strong and so powerfully fierce, and yet Jon could not help but feel that it was she who stood before him that awed him the most.

 

She raised her eyebrows at him when he said nothing more. He realised he was staring at her. His worries had been forgotten in that moment, but when he gathered himself again he took in a deep breath and sighed out.

 

“I have something important that I need to tell you.”


	5. Chapter 5

GENDRY

 

Sansa had returned to the forge to see Gendry the following day as promised, with her own measurements taken and sketches of dresses incorporating metal plates into the bust.

 

“You’ve a talent, m’lady” Gendry beamed as he studied her drawings. The lines were fine and elegant, but he thought they seemed produced by a confident hand. The figures themselves were beautiful, with soft, graceful curves, but it was the detail of the fabrics and patterns that she had managed to work into the dresses that impressed him the most. Her armour details were a little clumsier, certainly, but she seemed to have a decent understanding of the basic elements.

 

She lay them out on the large table in the centre of the room, and began offering a short description here and there, questioning his thought on the use of scale mail instead of a full breastplate. Her tone was friendlier today, light and soft with an edge of excitement. Her posture, however, remained formal and composed. She never slumped or slouched, Gendry had noticed, and she never stood too close to him. She was wary of him and he knew it.

 

‘Here…’ he said, pulling a chair from against the corner up to the centre table. He grabbed a cloth rag from a drawer and wiped it down quickly. “I really do apologise that this place is a bit of a mess, I’ve been kept busy, y’see, and none of the other smiths seem to have an interest in tidiness either…”

 

The instinct to lighten the mood had sent him rambling. He’d never much liked silence, he found it unsettling. All his life he had lived in a noisy city, surrounded by the clanging of steel and the chatter of men.

 

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Sansa chimed in. “You don’t need to apologise for the mess.”

 

She had arrived early, and not long after Gendry himself had started his work. The forge was usually full of smiths going about their business, but Gendry had taken it upon himself to start his days far earlier than the others, usually at first light - what little of it there was. With winter truely upon them now, it was often hard to see any change from day to night.

 

Sansa took the seat, while Gendry set about gathering metal pieces to use as explanation about the advantages of plate over mail.

 

“I figure it ain’t likely that there’ll be arrows flying at you, so there’s no need to worry about a heavy grade like this,” he said, holding up one of the pieces in his hand for her to see. “But, I think if you’re planning on wearing some armour, you ought to do it right.”

 

She nodded.

 

“So it’s a good thing you’ve come to me.” He jested. He worried that his humour would be lost on her, but it was the only thing he knew to do in awkward situations like these. He hoped it might break some of the tension she seemed to be holding around him.

 

Sansa raised her eyebrows a little at him but other than that, she gave no indication that she found him amusing.

 

“So what would you suggest?” She asked.

 

“A full breastplate, just as you mentioned originally,” He started explaining again as he moved around the table to view her sketches again.

 

“Something that could be worn over a number of different items of clothing?” she asked.

 

“Exactly,” Gendry spotted a drawing of some simple upper-torso armour under a wolf pelt cloak. “Here, like this…”

 

He leaned over the table to reach it and brought it back to lay in front of Sansa, then crouched down beside her chair and began describing certain parts he felt worked, or what could be improved. She was watching his hands intently as he spoke and pointed.

 

Just as she turned to him to ask a question, Gendry realised that he had forgotten himself and he was practically leaning into her. He knew instantly that he was inappropriately close, her face was just inches from his and that scent of flowers and citrus was stronger than ever.

 

Sansa’s reaction was instant. She was up out of the chair with a screech of wood on the stone floor, swiftly backing away from the table and from him.

 

_Gods she is uptight._

 

“Apologies m’lady. I did not mean to…” Gendry started, with a slight chuckle at her reaction, before he realised that she looked utterly terrified. “Lady Sansa?”

 

The look on her face was a mixture of fear and confusion, her eyes wide. Her hands were both at her chest, as though trying to keep herself from falling apart, and she was shaking.

 

“M’lady, I’m very sorry if I startled you.”

 

Gendry didn’t know what to make of it. He rubbed a hand across the back of his head while Sansa continued to stand, seemingly stuck on the spot. In those moments her eyes did not know him, he saw, they did not seem to know anything. Their blue flame had grown cold and icy.

 

“Are you…is everything alright?”

 

Then the door swung open and Arya stood in the doorway. The sudden brightness and movement seemed to pull Sansa from her shocked state as her eyes flit from Gendry to Arya. She stormed out the door, effectively pushing Arya to the side as she went.

 

“What in Seven Hells…?” Arya started. They both watched Sansa trudge away through the courtyard before Arya turned back to Gendry. “What did you do to Sansa?”

 

“I swear, I did nothing,” Gendry breathed. He was utterly perplexed by what had just happened.

 

“Why was she even here?”

 

“She asked me to help her with a design.” He stepped back from the doorway and closed the door, shutting out the cold air and, he hoped, the uneasy feeling his last moments with Sansa had left him with.

 

“What, like you’re going to help her sew?”

 

“What..? Why would I…no, she wants some metalwork done.” He busied himself with stacking Sansa’s drawings together. He cleared a drawer in the desk he’d taken the cloth from and placed them carefully inside.

 

“Sansa wants metalwork?” Arya was leaning against the centre table, watching him.

 

_Why does she always need to know everything about everything._

 

“For a breastplate to wear over a dress. She’s showed me her drawings, she has some good ideas.”

 

“She always liked her nice things.” She scoffed.

 

Gendry had been putting his thick leather gloves back on when he stopped and turned back to Arya. “Why are you so quick to judge her?”

 

“Why are you defending her?” She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly.

 

“How is it any different from you and Needle? We all get attached to things, Arry.”

 

“It’s not exactly the time for making pretty new dresses.”

 

Gendry knew that Arya had always felt a frustration towards Sansa. They had grown up under the same roof, with the same rules and the same expectations, yet they were such different people. Or, at least, they went about things in vastly different ways.

 

“Maybe it’s not about the pretty dresses. Maybe it helps her remember a better time? Maybe she just finds meaning in creating something that she can be proud of. It’s not really that different from what I do. Only I get paid for it. Well…I used to get paid for it.”

 

“So, she’s not paying you?”

 

Gendry thought on that for a moment. He was doing his job to serve the cause now, it was no longer about making a means to an end as it had been in King’s Landing. From his conversations with Jon, it was his understanding that his payment for his work was in the form of food, shelter, warmth and protection and as far as Gendry was concerned that was a lot in these troubled times. He had always enjoyed the work, but the idea of being able to create something different - maybe even something beautiful - was appealing.

 

“I dunno, we haven’t talked about it.”

 

“Well then, what have you talked about?” Arya was smirking at him with her eyebrows raised.

 

“Where are you going with this, Arya?”

 

Arya feigned a shrug. In a fumbled attempt to hide his reddening face from her he turned and began putting away the tools that had been left out from the night before. But he knew that there was no hiding anything from Arya.

 

“She’s the Lady of Winterfell.” he said over his shoulder.

 

“You’re a Baratheon.” She said it so matter-of-fact, he almost believed her.

 

“No…I’m a bastard.”

 

Arya considered him for a moment. “For now.”


	6. Chapter 6

JON

 

Jon lead Dany back inside the castle walls and into the Godswood. He knew that they would have privacy there as he figured that with the day at it’s end, Bran would more than likely be back inside.

 

Hardly anyone ever visited the old weirwood anymore. Its face still unsettled him, but under it’s watchful gaze he could feel the old gods and memories of Ned Stark clung to the air surrounding it. It gave him a strange sort of strength.

 

“Is everything alright, Jon?”

 

He nodded slowly, chewing nervously at his lower lip.

 

“This is…difficult for me,” he started.

 

Dany took his hand and he felt her thumb brush gently over his.

 

“Ned Stark wasn’t my father.”

 

She was silent.

 

“He took me in as his own because my mother was his sister, Lyanna.”

 

Jon could feel his heart thumping out of his chest as he said the words. He pictured a beautiful brunette woman with a face like Arya’s, and when he thought of her he saw a tall, silver-haired figured standing next to her.

 

“Rhaegar Targaryan was my father.”

 

Her eyes were flickering back and forth across his face, seemingly searching for the truth.

 

“How could you possibly know this?”

 

“My brother, Bran, is a greenseer. He calls himself the Three Eyed Raven now, which I learnt a little of beyond the wall. It’s difficult to explain, but I promise you that he speaks the truth.”

 

A truth that she needed to know.

 

Dany took another step toward him and he noticed that her eyes were shining with tears. She placed her gloved hand over his heart. Although there were layers between them, he could have sworn he felt her warmth.

 

“Blood of my blood,” she whispered, staring up at him in amazement.

 

Jon swallowed hard. Immediately following the realisation that Ned Stark was not his father, was the realisation that he had slept with someone of his own family. It confused him so much that it had made him feel ill. His aunt.

 

He had spent days pondering how it had made him feel about her. The thought spun over and over in his head a thousand times, but the only conclusion he could seem to ever come to was that he was in love with her. He had learnt many truths in those days immediately following his return to Winterfell - he was not Ned Stark’s son, he was not a bastard, he was their heir to the Iron Throne, and he was in love with his aunt.

 

He knew that his own grandparents, Ned and Lyanna’s parents, had been cousins. That was never frowned upon. Siblings was too close for such intimacies to be sure, but apparently cousins was acceptable. Jon and Dany’s relationship seemed to land somewhere in between. What was right? He didn’t know the answer.

 

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._ Ygritte’s voice echoed in his head.

 

It had been so true for so long, so how could he so readily push aside that which he finally knew. He loved Daenerys.

 

“Yes,” he said, finally. She hadn’t really asked it as a question, but he answered it anyway.

 

“So when Rhaegar took Lyanna…your mother…she died in child birth?”

 

“That is what Bran said, but -”

 

“Oh, Jon. I’m sorry,” she was shaking her head, while she looked at her hands, both of which were now gripping Jon’s. “I know I have apologised for the crimes my family had committed against yours before but…I am so sorry.”

 

“It’s not what you think. Apparently it’s not what anyone thought…”

 

Jon could feel his hands shaking now. He cleared his throat in an attempt to control himself.

 

“I don’t understand,” she urged him.

 

He took in a deep breath and sighed out heavily. He looked over to the face carved into the old tree. There was fresh sap seeping from it’s eyes. He shivered.

 

“My friend - my brother, at the Night’s Watch - Sawmell Tarly was studying to be a master at the citadel when he discovered the truth of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s relationship. Bran confirms it. There was no kidnapping, no rape.”

 

He took another breath and looked at her. Her violet eyes were swimming with confusion and worry.

 

“Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia and married Lyanna before I was born,” he said. “They were in love.”

 

Dany’s eyes widened as she took in the information. In the shortest of moments, her look of confusion turned to relief as the corners of her mouth began to upturn, before a sudden frown overtook her face. She dropped his hands.

 

“A true born son to my brother would be his heir.”

 

“Yes, but Dany please listen to me-”

 

“Your claim is greater than mine.”

 

“I don’t want it, Daenerys.”

 

She seemed to be looking through him, her violet eyes were distant and pained. A gust of wind ruffled through the blood-red leaves of the old heart tree, filling the silence between them.

 

They stayed standing that way for a what felt like a long while, Daenerys deep in thought while this time it was was Jon who watched on in concern. She was the first to speak again.

 

“How long have you known about this?”

 

He frowned at her. There was a distinct anger in her voice which he wasn’t sure he hadn’t expected, but it still stung him.

 

“Not long. Only since we arrived in Winterfell”

 

“You kept this from me for a week?”

 

It was a blow he hadn’t expected. Anger and confusion were something he could understand but he felt quite certain that her tone was full of accusation.

 

“I wasn’t keeping it from you…it was a lot of take in, Dany.”

 

“Who else have you told? Who else knows?” Her voice was growing louder.

 

“Only a few people, my family mostly. I needed them to know. Everything I thought I knew…it was all a lie. But I know now, Daenerys, that this doesn’t have to change anything.”

 

“If you think you are the only one this affects then you are very much mistaken.”

 

Another blow.

 

“Of course, I don’t think that. I know this affects you… I know -”

 

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

 

Her last words hit him so hard he felt as though his legs might buckle beneath him. He wasn’t able to respond. Her eyes were so full of pain and resentment as she gave him one last glance before she turned on her heel and marched off back toward the castle.


	7. Chapter 7

DANY

Dany's mind was racing, yet her legs could not seem to keep a decent pace. The pounding on her temples was matched by a pain she felt in her chest. She stumbled her way toward the castle, clutching desperately to the cloak around her as the cold air began to soak into her clothing. The light was almost gone, disappeared behind the darkened western forest, and her eyes were blurred by unfallen tears.

 

As the gate that lead back inside the main castle walls came into her view she bolted off the worn path out of the forest and steadied herself against a nearby oak tree. She was still shaded inside the tree line, clear from the vision of the two unsullied guards who stood either side of the gate. She didn’t want them to see her this way.

 

_You must be your people’s strength._ Jorah’s words from years ago came into her mind, though she knew the reason she hid her tears was mostly to avoid her own humiliation.

 

She steadied her breathing, pulled the hood of her cloak up to shadow her tear-stained eyes and started back onto the path. She nodded at the guards as she passed them and then stopped again as she tried to gather her bearings. It wasn’t a particularly large castle, but she had not yet returned to the chambers from this direction before, and the lack of light confused her.

 

She trudged on anyway through the mud in the courtyard, climbed a staircase and took a gallery she felt sure would lead her to the great hall. As she rounded a corner, she almost crashed in someone coming the other way.

 

“My apologies,” she said, mustering as must grace as she could. When she looked up, she realised that it was Sansa she had nearly toppled, shadowed very closely by the lady knight she knew was named Brienne. “Lady Sansa. Lady Brienne.”

 

She suddenly felt very small. Both the beautiful red-head and her loyal guard were significantly taller than her and while she was used to being the shortest person in the room, it was usually the men who towered over her, and she was not usually so unprepared.

 

“Your Grace,” Sansa said curtly. “No need to apologise, it was entirely my fault.”

 

When Dany caught Sansa’s eye, she saw her eyebrows pinch together before quickly resuming to their usual formal manner. Dany realised it must have been quite obvious to Sansa that she had been crying, even in the flickering light of the torch that hung on the stone wall beside them.

 

There was a strange silence that passed between them. Dany wanted to run from them both.

 

“Can I help you find your way?” said Sansa.

 

“If you could just point me toward the great hall I can find my way from there.”

 

She gave a simple explanation, to which Dany thanked her quickly and started off in the given direction before stopping herself.

 

In her own bitterness and fury in the days following the news about Viserion, she knew that she had neglected some of her queenly duties, including any real conversation with Sansa. In that moment, despite her reddened eyes and blurred mind, she felt it was something she had to rectify.

 

“Lady Sansa,” Dany said as she turned back toward her. “Forgive me, I have been meaning to speak with you for some time, it just…”

 

She trailed off as she realised she didn’t even know if she had a good enough excuse for her absence. They had been cordial during council meetings, which Sansa frequently attended and listened with great intent, but Dany had always imagined it to be easier with Jon’s family. It wasn’t easy. Nothing about the North had been easy.

 

Sansa was looking at her with very little expression on her face. She had not been particularly welcoming, but not altogether cold either. Dany felt as though there was a certain sadness in her eyes, hidden behind a stiff mask of propriety. It felt familiar to her.

 

“It’s quite alright. I understand you have been distracted,” Sansa replied. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

 

Dany wondered if she thought that was the cause for her current distress. She had certainly shed many tears over Viserion, and she couldn’t deny that this fresh pain was not entirely unrelated.

 

“Thank you, my lady,” there was another awkward silence before Dany added “perhaps you could take a drink with me, if you’ve the time to spare?”

 

“Yes, of course, your Grace.”

 

Sansa dismissed Brienne with some resistance. “There are guards everywhere I turn these days, I assure you we are perfectly fine to walk alone, Brienne,” she said.

 

They made their way toward Dany’s private quarters, and as they walked she tried her best to make polite conversation, all the while trying to reign in her currently vulnerable state of mind. She realised that while she was well versed in attending ladies of the court in her many years as queen, she had no experience in trying to get to know a lover’s family.

 

_Is he my lover? Can a King be a lover. Perhaps I am_ his _lover._ She pondered suddenly, before the weight of her last conversation with him flooded her thoughts.

 

“I hope you have found everything to your liking, my Queen.”

 

“Yes, of course, you have been a gracious host, Lady Sansa,” Dany replied. “I would like to speak frankly with you, if I may?”

 

“Of course.”

 

They arrived at the Dany’s solar, where there were two more unsullied guards on either side of her door. Upon entering into the warm air within, mixed with the fragrant oils and spices immediately calmed her and started clearing her head.

 

“I know you were not pleased to hear that Jon bent the knee.” Dany said steadily.

 

Sansa was silent.

 

“I want you to know that I understand,” she poured Sansa a glass of deep red wine and passed it to her. “You don’t know me, but I am not a fool who believes that the people of Westeros long for their Targaryen heir.”

 

She saw Sansa’s electric blue eyes flick to her, then to the wine in her hand and she took a deep drink.

 

“I am here to help you, Sansa. I want to help the North, to help your people.”

 

“That may be so, but the North remembers and it will not so easily forgive your family.,” Sansa replied. “I know you are not your father, nor your brother, but you are not of the North.”

 

“There are many who have said that I am not of the South either, despite being born there. Perhaps I am not Westerosi. Though, I am not Essosi, either.” She had not be deaf to the grumblings of the Norther lords, who cursed her presence at every turn. “Apparently I don’t belong anywhere.”

 

Sansa stared blankly back at her, seemingly unsure about how to respond to the bluntness of her statement.

 

“Would you not agree?” said Dany. She felt that if she was going to have any kind of meaningful conversation with Sansa, she would have to be the first to show some vulnerability. Considering she had just been running through the Godswood in tears, she knew it would not take much.

 

“I can not say, your Grace. It took me a long time to know where I belonged.”

 

“I am glad that you found that place.” Dany said with ernest, and felt her hopes rise as Sansa gave the slightest hint of a smile. “Now I hope that you will let me help you keep it.”

 

“Jon tells me it was because of you that you were able to re-take Winterfell. He admires you a great deal.”

 

“I wish he admired me enough to listen to me every once in a while.”

 

“He certainly is stubborn.”

 

Sansa laughed then, before taking another drink from her goblet. “Jon is in love with you.”

 

She hadn’t asked it as a question, Dany noted, which meant Sansa saw it as clearly as she did. “Yes.” Dany replied.

 

“Are you in love with him?”

 

There seemed to be no point in denying it, though it had never been said in so many words. This was plainly a question, so again Dany replied, though her voice came out much quieter than she had intended. “Yes.”

 

Sansa seemed to consider her answer for a moment.

 

“Does this displease you?” Dany found herself asking. She hadn’t realised until now how much her approval would mean, having seen the strength of the bond between Jon and his family.

 

“No.” Sansa replied, smiling a little as she shook her head. “No, of course not. I am pleased to see Jon so happy.”

 

Dany felt a heaviness creep back into her thoughts. “He told me about his parents, just this afternoon.”

 

“I see.” Sansa replied simply, the smile leaving her face.

 

“Perhaps I didn’t take it very well. As I believe you may have noticed.”

 

“Because of the claim?” The warmth Dany had felt from Sansa just moments before was beginning the falter.

 

“Yes and no. If I’m being honest, my own feelings confound me. It’s about much more than just the claim.” She looked at Sansa, who raised her eyebrows slightly, as if in question.

 

“He is my kin. He is the only living family that I have now. I thought I was alone, for so long it was what I knew to be the truth and I came to accept it. But now I find out that it’s not true…I am not the last Targeryen, and perhaps the line could continue…”

 

Sansa was starting to look very confused. “This makes you unhappy?”

 

“No.” Dany replied. “Quite the opposite. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

 

“I’m sorry, your Grace…but I don’t understand…” There was pity in Sansa’s her eyes that she could not bare to see.

 

Dany shook her head. “I need to think on it longer. It is all still so fresh, and I believe there is much to consider.”

 

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but, appearing to reconsider her question, closed it again.

 

“You are lucky to have such a brother, Lady Sansa.” Dany thought of her own brother then, the one she had known. Viserys was as far removed from Jon Snow as a person could be, in every way. “He cares for you deeply.”

 

Sansa stared into the empty goblet in her hands and did not reply.

 

“You disagree?”

 

“No. I am, very lucky indeed. He is much kinder to me than I deserve, given how I treated him when we were children, though he says he has forgiven me for that.” She smiled a little. “It’s just…”

 

Sansa had trailed off. Dany knew they had long strayed far away from polite conversation, and that both women seemed to be wandering into very personal matters. This was Jon’s sister, and she was elated to feel they were beginning to speaking as friends might.

 

“I appreciate his care, but I want his trust as well.” Sansa said finally.

 

“You think he doesn’t trust you?”

 

“I think he does not listen to me when I try to warn him. I believe he dismisses my council. I don’t know if he will ever see me as anything other than the foolish little girl that I was before he left for the wall.”

 

“A woman in a position of power is often a hard thing for a man to accept. That is a truth I have learnt time and time again.” Dany sighed before continuing. “But I’m sure that is not how Jon feels toward you. He has never indicated to me that he sees you as you described, nor that he mistrusts you. I have seen that sometimes Jon is so eager to do what is right that he can act rashly, and often without consulting his advisers. I would say that is probably the Targaryen blood.

 

Sansa nodded. “I see. As you say…stubborn.”

 

Both women laughed this time.

 

“I expect that one of these warnings you speak of may have been to not trust me?” Dany joked, raising her eyebrows.

 

Sansa stopped laughing but continued to smile at her. “I think perhaps now…I was wrong in that case.”

 

“Thank you for saying that, my lady.”

 

“I fear that I trusted too much when I was younger and now…perhaps it is lost to me.” Although she said it lightly, her eyes were distance.

 

“Why would it be lost?”

 

“I…” Sansa began, but did not seem to be able to continue.

 

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to explain.”

 

“It’s just that I haven’t really talked about it with anyone. Everyone has suffered so much, it seems, and there doesn't seem to be much point in reliving any of it.” Sansa seemed to be trying very hard to keep a straight face while she spoke.

 

“I know you’ve had a hard time, Sansa.” Dany took Sansa’s hand. “Jon does not speak of it but I know what his silences mean. I am sorry you suffered like that. I too have known what it is to have someone take such advantages. If you ever feel that you would need someone to talk with, i would be willing to listen.”

 

“Your Grace, I…”

 

“Please, call me Daenerys. You’re Jon’s family…there is no need for such formalities.” Dany squeezed her hand lightly, feeling herself smile.

 

Sansa smiled back. “And you are his family now, Daenerys, so you are my family as well.”


	8. Chapter 8

GENDRY

 

 

When Sansa came to the forge for the first time since Gendry had apparently scared her out of it, it was mid afternoon and occupied by the other blacksmith and his apprentice. They had stopped their work to acknowledge the Lady of Winterfell, before she insisted they ignore her presence.

 

 

“Forgive me, please carry on as you were. I would like to speak with Gendry, if I may?”

 

 

He had been avoiding looking at Sansa out of embarrassment until hearing his name. He was already sweating from the day’s work, but as he looked toward the door, the sight of her standing ina halo of light had encouraged a new course of droplets across his forehead.

 

 

Clearing his throat, he set his tools aside and pulled off his leather gloves. “M’lady.” He said as he came to stand in front of her, though careful not to be too near to her. He had decided that it must have been his closeness to her that she had found so uncomfortable. If that’s what it was she had felt. He was still entirely confused about what had occurred.

 

 

“Might I speak to you privately. It is about the job I assigned you.”

 

 

Although they had not made any final decisions about the armour she had wanted, Gendry had decided to make a start on it anyway. He still had her drawings carefully bundled together in the desk draw. He had taken them to his rooms the first night she had left them, where he had studied them again, making mental notes about what to use in the design.

 

 

He had found them strangely comforting, and they had inspired some new thoughts about sigil designs, and leather and fur panelling. Although he had spent a lot of time with Arya in the evenings, and Jon when he could find a moment away from his duties for an ale, mosts nights were dismally boring, and there was something about the cold he found especially lonely.

 

 

Yet Sansa’s works were a source of inspiration for him, and he had longed to speak with her about some of her ideas.

 

 

“Of course, m’lady. There are rooms upstairs if…no, sorry that would be inappropriate.” Gendry cleared his throat again. He thought he may have seen Sansa blush a little. “Outside, perhaps?” She raised her eyebrows. “…In the cold.” he finished under his breath, cursing himself for his terrible suggestions.

 

 

“Upstairs will be fine.”

 

 

“M’lady..? Where is Brienne?” Gendry gaped quietly in surprise.

 

 

“Brienne is sparring with Arya. I am the lady of this castle, and I can be without her in my own home. I have been alone with you before, in any case.” Sansa met his eye. “That is also something that I want to discuss with you.” She spoke quietly back to him, though she was much more composed than he was.

 

 

“As you say, m’lady.” He led her up the staircase to the landing, which was itself a small room just large enough to fit a small desk and a pair of chairs. There were two small rooms attached.

 

 

“Oh, this…these are your rooms?” Sansa asked.

 

 

“Well that one is,” Gendry pointed towards the one on the left, realising he hadn’t shut the door properly. “The other is vacant for now. Jon said to expect someone in the next few weeks, what with more Northerners coming to seek shelter. I think I’ll just move my stuff into the room at the back of the shop, though, it’s enough space for me and that way they could have a few more people up here. A couple of small families would fit I’d say. It’s always warm up here, what with the fires down stairs n’ all…”

 

 

He managed to stop himself before he got too far off subject. 

 

 

“I want to apologise for my behaviour the last time we spoke.” Sansa suddenly said.

 

 

“Apologise? You didn’t do anything wrong, it was me. I wasn’t thinking, I never thought that I would…I shouldn’t of been standing so close-”

 

 

“No, it’s quite alright.” Sansa cut him off. “But i do need to apologise, because I shouldn’t have just left. You startled me, is all, and it was rude of me to leave the way I did.”

 

 

“Well you are certainly forgiven. I hope you will forgive me for startling you.”

 

 

“Yes, of course,” Sansa said. “I want you to know that it wasn’t because it was you. It’s not that I can’t be near you, or don’t want to be…or…anything like that.” Gendry had never seen her fumble her words like that.

 

 

He swallowed. _What does that mean?_ He thought. _Does that mean she wants to be near me? No, she’s just saying she doesn’t_ not _want to be near me._

 

 

He didn’t know what to say so he simply nodded.

 

 

After a moment of awkward silence, or at least it felt awkward in his head, Gendry offered Sansa a chair.

 

 

“There is no need, I don’t wish to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say that I hope you would still consider helping me with my request.”

 

 

“I’ve already started.” Gendry grinned. “I hope you don’t mind…we can make any changes you think necessary.”

 

 

“I’m sure you know how best to approach it. I am happy to leave it to you. Jon seems to think you know what you’re doing, and Arya as sung your praises as a smith as well.”

 

 

Gendry beamed at her comment. Partly because his friends had apparently said kind things about his work, but mostly he felt jubilant by the idea that Sansa had spoken about him at all, even if it was only to question the quality of his workmanship.

 

 

_Stop being ridiculous, you idiot._ He thought to himself. _Lady. Of. Winterfell._

 

 

Sansa nodded to him and began to turn back toward the stairs.

 

 

“You know, you’re different to how I had imagined.” Gendry suddenly blurted out.

 

 

She looked back at him, slightly concerned. “What do you mean?”

 

 

“I just mean, you’re not like Arya described.” He had no idea why he was saying these things, but he wanted to keep talking to her.

 

 

“She talked about me, did she? I’d bet she didn’t have many kind things to say. We were always bickering.”

 

 

“Not unkind, just not…I mean even we fought when we were travelling. She’s a stubborn one, f’sure.” Gendry didn’t know how to explain. But Sansa wasn’t at all what he thought she would be. He felt sure that there was a great deal of compassion behind her serious demeanour. “I suspect she misunderstood you, is all.”

 

 

Sansa’s lips curled into a half smile. Gendry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

 

\------------------------- 

 

She visited him again a few days later, after dark when the others had gone home to their families. Entering the doorway, Gendry noticed she was holding something in both hands, eyes watching it with careful determination as she moved.

 

 

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said rather cheerfully, holding the bowl out in front of herself. He was stunned to realise that it was a steaming bowl of stew and it looked to be fresh from the kitchens. A sudden hunger overcame him as the scent of mutton and onion filled the room.

 

 

He looked from the bowl in her delicate hands, to her face in confusion. Sansa’s eyebrows pinched together at his reaction.

 

 

“I know I’ve given you an unreasonable amount of work to do. I wanted to help however I could. You’re welcome to take it in the hall, if you’d prefer? I think Arya’s there…”

 

 

“No, no…I’m very grateful, of course,” he replied in ernest, taking the bowl from her and setting it on the table. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s very kind, m’lady. Very kind.”

 

 

“Sansa. You should call me Sansa.”

 

 

“Sansa. Thank you.”

 

 

He smiled at her, and his heart lit up when she returned it.


	9. Chapter 9

DANY

 

 

The morning’s council meeting had been relatively uneventful. Grey Worm reported the latest news from his scouts, along with a general report of the security within and without of the castle. The maester gave a short report on the weather, and the most recent raven scrolls - of which there were very few, Dany noticed. Jon had spoken in detail on the number of dragon glass weapons that had been forged, and how many were still needed, along with more numbers concerning armour, how much steel the smiths had left and on and on it went. 

 

 

Throughout the entire meeting, the tension between Jon and herself had been more obvious than she would have liked. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to look at him for more than a quick glance, whereas he seemed to be having the opposite problem. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time, as though he were trying to read her, to understand her - something even she was struggling with.

 

 

When there was nothing left to be discussed, and it had been decided that their preparations were on track, despite an unusual lack of information from Bran on about the exact whereabouts of the army of the dead, Dany thanked everyone and left to return to her chambers.

 

 

After a short time, she decided that while their plans concerning the Night King were going as well as they could, she would take the opportunity to discuss other matters with her advisors, so she called on Varys and Tyrion to meet her in her solar.

 

_____________________________________________

 

 

“My lords, thank you for meeting with me.”

 

 

Tyrion was lounging comfortably in a chair by the small table in the corner of the room, tapping his fingers on the timber next to the decanter of wine and goblets. Varys was his usual poised self, though he was sporting many more layers over his usual robe.

 

 

“I am seeking some information from you both about my brother, Rhaegar.”

 

 

Apparently Tyrion was unable resist the temptation any longer as he took the wine and poured a glass.

 

 

“My Queen, as you know, I never had the pleasure of knowing the man and as such I am not sure what help I can offer.” Tyrion explained. He held the decanter out in front of himself, offering it to the others. Dany shook her head.

 

 

“I would like to know if you know anything about the relationship between him and Lyanna Stark? How did he feel about her?” Dany tried to keep her tone casual.

 

 

Varys stared at her for a moment, regarding her questions, before answering.

 

 

“By all accounts he was in love with her. There were no whispers of cruelty on his part before, so it never made much sense to me that he would kidnap the girl. But I suppose one’s ears cannot be in all places at all times…”

 

 

“What of Lady Lyanna? Did your little birds not hear any word on her feelings?” Said Dany.

 

 

“They were seen talking at the Tourney or Harrenhal, where it is believed they first met. But the She-Wolf was no blushing girl who swooned at handsome young men. She was known to be a fierce woman of the North so it comes as no surprise that she was never spied batting her eyelashes at him.”

 

 

Dany waited for him to continue. She felt sure that could not be the end of it.

 

 

“There are those who suspected she loved him, however.” Varys said matter-of-factly. “There are even songs that the bards sing of their secret devotions. Though I’ve never of heard the source of these tales, so I cannot tell you one way or another. All I am told is that she was never unpleasant toward the Prince. If I may, your Grace, why your sudden interest in these matters?”

 

 

“I have received some rather shocking news. Something of which I believe even you may not have been aware.”

 

 

Varys raised an eyebrow. Though he pursed his lips tight, she saw a look of intrigue upon his face.

 

 

“Jon Snow has come to learn that he is not the son of Lord Eddard Stark, as he had so long believed, but that of his sister, the Lady Lyanna and Rhaegar.” Dany was surprised by how easily the words came spilling from her mouth.

 

 

A small, but knowing look passed between Varys and Tyrion. Daenerys felt confused by their reaction, having braced herself for a pair of gasps or a flurry of questions. She felt the heat rise in her face.

 

 

“You already know something of this?” she seethed. “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to share it with me.”

 

 

“Your Grace, I swear to you that I did not know any truth of the matter. I did, however, have my suspicions.” Varys explained in a quiet, apologetic voice.

 

 

Tyrion poured himself another glass of wine. “It did seem to be a possibility. What with the timing of it all.” 

 

 

“And yet this was never discussed with me? Why?” It angered her further that both of her counsellors did not seem to think much of the revelation at all.

 

 

“It was of no great importance to know who Jon Snow’s true parents were, and even if it were as suspected it would have been impossible to prove. Nobel blood or no, the boy is a bastard.”

 

 

His words infuriated her, and before she knew it, she was practically shouting at them.

 

 

“Well apparently you were wrong on both accounts! Jon has found proof that Rhaegar and Lyanna were married, following an annulment to Elia Martell.”

 

 

There was a long pause, before…

 

 

“What? That’s not…” Tyrion was looking at her in disbelief, while Varys stared past her in a look of pained confusion.

 

 

“But that would make…” Varys began. Tyrion made a noise that sounded like a laugh that became choked in his throat. He picked up his glass and finished it, before placing it back on the table and burying his face into his hands.

 

 

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Presicely.”

 

 

“Well,” said Varys. “That is indeed unexpected.”

 

 

As quickly as her anger has flared, it disappeared. Instead was replaced by a hollow sadness. “Why would someone lie about this?”

 

 

“Well it seems rather obvious why Ned Stark never told anyone…he clearly feared for the boy’s life.”

 

 

“No,” Dany insisted. “What I mean is - why did the whole seven kingdoms believe that my brother kidnapped and raped Lyanna? Surely they did not start the rumour themselves?”

 

 

“I do believe the news came by a raven scroll. Though I’ve no idea who sent it. I don’t believe it was ever truely questioned. Rhaegar never hid his affections for the girl.”

 

 

“So why lie about it?”

 

 

“Well, I suppose whoever it was felt they had something to gain from the lie. But what, I wonder?” Varys seemed almost amused, as though it were some kind of riddle, waiting to be solved. He began to pace the room slowly. “It could be said that it was what tipped the scales to cause Robert’s Rebellion. Certainly, things would not have continued they way they had with the Mad King on the throne, but Lyanna was promised to Robert and he wanted his vengeance on Rhaegar after he found out she’d been taken.”

 

 

Dany’s mind was racing. She couldn’t make sense of it. “So perhaps someone wanted Rhaegar dead, specifically?”

 

 

Tyrion was shaking his head. “If someone wanted Rhaegar dead, surely there would have been simpler ways than to anger Robert Baratheon and the Starks into a war that could have lasted for years. A quicker start to the war against your father, perhaps? Robert would not have been nearly as successful without Ned Stark’s help, and I do believe that it was the death of his sister, brother and father that allowed him to feel that the rebellion was justified to the North.”

 

 

“It’s quite perfect, really, causing Robert’s rebellion in one raven scroll.” Varys mused.

 

 

Tyrion ran a hand through his beard, deep in thought. “Sounds very much like something my father may have had a hand in.”

 

 

“But whoever it was that sent the raven couldn’t have known that Lyanna would die, or the Stark men either. Perhaps whoever sent it thought that just believing that Lyanna was kidnapped would have angered them into war, it certainly was enough for Robert to call his banners.” Varys suggested.

 

 

“But the raven wasn’t sent to Robert, it was sent to Brandon Stark.” Tyrion pointed out.

 

 

“Could it be that it was Brandon Stark that the sender wanted dead? It is well known that when he arrived at King’s Landing he called for Rhaegar to come out and duel him - a match he was unlikely to win.”

 

 

“Why would anyone have wanted the eldest Stark son dead?” Dany asked.

 

 

A sudden look of knowing past over Varys’ face. “Perhaps because of who he was about to marry.” He said it slowly, thinking it through carefully as he spoke the words. “His party was on the road travelling to Riverrun when he received this letter, after all. He was to marry Catelyn Tully.”

 

 

Tyrion looked up from his glass, his eyebrows dissappearing into his hair.

 

 

“I feel as though there’s something I’m missing, my lords. Will you not enlighten me?” Dany said, looking from one to the other.

 

 

“Well there was one man who has been known to cause such extreme measures of drama with some well-placed deceit. It just so happens that as a young man he fell in love with Cately Tully.” Varys was almost smiling. “Petyr Bealish.”


	10. Chapter 10

SANSA

 

 

“It’s ready for a final fit,” Gendry chimed. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with the largest grin Sansa had ever seen him wear.

 

 

He had come to find her late in the afternoon, and hovered about her as she finalised inspections of the granaries with Maester Wolken.

 

 

She found herself laughing back at him, a smile spreading over her own face as they made their way into the main forge, seemingly empty, and closed the door behind them. “You certainly seem proud of yourself.”

 

 

She had come to find that Gendry always managed to lighten her mood. He wasn’t like her, she had decided. He was cheerful and warm, and he somehow managed to find a joke in everything. At first she found it frustratingly annoying, but she was starting to grow fond of it. It didn’t take her long to realise she was starting to grow fond of him.

 

 

“Yes…well I’m happy with it,” he said. “Though it ain’t exactly as you designed it. I added a few details…a bit fancy really but once I started I couldn’t stop. Not too fancy for your your lady-ship of course…perhaps not my best work, though…”

 

 

He was rambling again.

 

 

“I hadn’t expected you to make it as detailed as my drawings. I’m sure whatever you’ve done will be suitable.” Sansa said.

 

 

“Oh,” his voice was suddenly quite serious. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to make it your own…House Stark and everything.”

 

 

That had surprised her into silence. 

 

 

Gendry pulled something covered in a dark cloth out from under the desk and brought it over to the centre table. She noticed he looked cleaner than usual. There was significantly less soot on his face and arms, and the shirt he wore had fewer patches and grease stains. She wondered if he had cleaned up intentionally before coming to find her. It made her stomach flutter.

 

 

He gave Sansa a look that seemed to resemble a strange entanglement of excitement and utter fear before unveiling the breastplate.

 

 

She had expected to see a plate of shining metal gleaming back at her, but was met with something completely different. It had been covered in dark grey leather, with elegant silver edging and rivets. In the centre of it was a weir wood tree - it’s trunk and branches shaped out of polished steel. The leaves were what looked to be dyed leather, finely sown into the darker background, all blood-red with the exception of two deep blue ones.

 

 

It was beautiful. The tree itself seemed to be calling her forward to see it more clearly, and as she did so she realised that the leaves on the tree had been shaped perfectly together to make the face of a wolf -staring out at her with the two blue leaves that were it’s eyes.

 

 

She was completely stunned.

 

 

“It’s…I don’t know what to say…”

 

 

“It’s too much,” he said rather glumly. “I got over-excited, didn’t I? It ain’t even your house colours. But then I thought, your hair…y’know…” he pointed at the red leaves. “Should have just gone with the black and grey, right? It’s just that everything’s already so black and grey up here…not that it’s not beautiful, o’course -”

 

 

“Gendry,” Sansa finally managed to get out. “It’s incredible.”

 

 

She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him that it was the most perfect thing she had ever seen. She wanted to tell him that it was so much more than she ever could have imagined. She knew she should tell him that it was far more work than he should have done but she felt so grateful for it that she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

 

 

It seemed she had said enough for the grin to return to his face, and her heart felt suddenly full of a warmth she couldn’t remember feeling before. It was like the sun that had been missing for so long was right there in the room with them.

 

 

“Should I…” Sansa gestured toward the breastplate.

 

 

“Yes, of course. Please try it.”

 

 

She untied the cords on her cloak and pulled it off from her shoulders to lay it over the chair, and took the armour from him. It was lighter than she had expected it to be, at which she breathed a silent sigh of relief. The shoulder straps were already fastened so she put it straight over her head, andbegan pulling her hair free from underneath, wishing she had braided it that morning rather than wearing it down.

 

 

“So far so good then,” Gendry said. “It’s a little uneven, I’ll adjust the shoulders..”

 

 

He moved toward her with a hand outstretched to her shoulder before he stopped. “If I may, that is?” He asked, serious again, catching her eye.

 

 

Sansa was surprised to feel herself blush a little as she nodded and looked away.

 

 

He moved to stand by her right side, and ever so carefully he swept a lock of loose hair over her shoulder. His fingers brush gently past her neck and felt herself tense up. Out of the corner of her vision she could see some small beads of sweat on his neck, and she noticed that his hands shook a little as he loosened the buckle.

 

 

She turned her head just enough to meet his eye and this time they held. It was the first time she’d noticed their colour, a soft greyish blue, like the Northern skies at dusk. Then suddenly she couldn’t resist the urge to look at his lips. His voice startled her and she broke her gaze.

 

 

“I can help you with the side straps too,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

 

 

Sansa could feel his breath on her, fanning the side of her face and sending a shiver down her body. Her own breath hitched in her throat. Her voiced seemed to have abandoned her so she nodded again, awkwardly lifting her arms out to the side. 

 

 

The room was dark but for the light from the fire and some candles on the desk by the door, and silent but for the thundering sound of her heart in her chest. She felt sure that he could hear it, what with the way it was deafening her.

 

 

Gendry fumbled away at the straps one by one, working his way from her right to left side. Sansa’s breathing grew more erratic with every tug of the leather buckles.

 

 

“Do you mind if I just check over it for the fit?”

 

 

Sansa swallowed but her mouth was dry. “Of course. That is - I mean no, I don’t mind.”

 

 

He pulled a little at the collar, then under each of her arms. He began moving around her body again and with every touch he looked back at her for permission.

 

 

“The weight of the plate should all be here…” He said as he came to stand behind her, placing his hands on either of her hips.

 

 

Sansa breathed in sharply. His hands seemed to burn straight through the layers of clothing, metal and leather between his them, to her waist. As he stood there, the heat move through her, lower and lower…

 

 

She could feel how close he was to her, but she wanted him closer. She wanted to turn around, she wanted to feel what his body would feel like pressed up against hers. She wasn’t sure she had ever wanted to feel that from someone, and she felt shocked by her own thoughts.

 

 

She was silent and still for long enough for Gendry pulled his hands away.

 

 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he said.

 

 

Before any reasonable thought could enter her mind she spun around to face him and grabbed his arm as he began to turn away.

 

 

“Wait,” she whispered, her hand trembled against his warm skin.


End file.
